


Harbour Snippet : History Lesson

by cywscross



Series: The Harbour [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Older Stiles Stilinski, Polyamory, Steter Week 2018, Threesome - M/M/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: Peter finds out a little more about the Harbour and its history.





	Harbour Snippet : History Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Steter Week 2018.

 

It’s a slow day.  Chris is at work but Stiles is between clients at the moment so he and Peter end up sitting on the dock in front of their house, feet dangling over the edge and dipping into the water, watching as a couple selkies indulgently pose as seals for a ferry boat full of tourists that’s trundling by, receiving a deck of cameras all flashing madly at them in return.

The tourists are a little annoying, but like everything else he’s experienced so far, Peter’s accepted it as part of life here at the Harbour, and he did enjoy helping out with the Haunted House last week.  The Harbour is already pretty free about walking around in broad daylight with only the flimsiest of human disguises thrown over them when regular humans are around, but Halloween is the one day of the year where they can pop fangs and claws and wings and an extra couple eyes without humans running away screaming.  Well no, that’s not exactly true.  Peter won second prize - $500 and a phoenix feather - for how many humans he managed to frighten in the Haunted House he was asked to help run, and he would normally be miffed about coming in second but even he has to admit, Lucille is terrifying.

The boat pulls further away, taking the tourists with it, and Peter’s relaxed calm from before returns.  Stiles is quiet today too, content to splay himself on the dock beside Peter, shirt half-rucked up, indolent under the autumn sunlight.  He’s said that it’s probably one of the last relatively warm days before the November rainstorms roll in.

Frankly, Peter’s looking forward to it.  In a community crammed full of supernatural creatures, he doubts anybody will actually drown when the Harbour swells, especially with selkies and aquatic shifters and who knows what else all willing and able to do search-and-rescue if necessary.  So he’s looking forward to watching Chris wrangle their boat through a flood, and the view from the balcony will surely be a sight to see.  There’s a reason everyone’s houses are built on stilts after all.

He’s stirred out of his thoughts when Stiles rolls into his hip, slinging one arm over his waist and hooking a foot around Peter’s calf. Peter peers down at him, amused. “Comfortable?”

He gets a cheeky - if lazy - smile back. “Very.” As if to punctuate it, Stiles cracks a yawn, stretching like a sunning cat, before cuddling even closer to sprawl possessively halfway over Peter’s lap.

“What are you thinking so hard about anyway?” Stiles mumbles drowsily. “Today is a day for doing nothing. Including thinking.”

Peter snorts even as he runs light fingers through Stiles’ hair, and part of him still marvels at the fact that he has this now. “I was just thinking about the Harbour.”

Stiles hums and finally hauls himself up into a sitting position. “It’s only been a few months since you got here but you seem to be settling in pretty well.”

“I am,” Peter agrees. “I like it here.” Understatement. He’d probably be perfectly happy never leaving again. Maybe he wouldn’t feel that way if he grew up here, maybe he’d be bored and want to leave, although he can’t really imagine that, if only because there’s nothing _dull_ about the Harbour, but either way, he _wasn’t_ raised here, and after everything that’s happened to him in both recent and maybe not-so-recent years, being able to live here is just another thing he has Stiles to be thankful for. Even if you’re a supernatural creature, not just anyone can move here permanently without a rigorous year-long trial period at the very least. The only reason Peter gets to skip that is because of Stiles. “I was just wondering a few things about it, that’s all.”

Stiles huffs out a laugh. “Aren’t you always?”

“There’s a lot to learn!” Peter grumbles defensively. “And not all of it is in your books, or at least the ones I’ve read so far. Like… why haven’t I heard about this place before? The Hale Pack is- It was old. One of the oldest lineages in America. But I know none of my family ever knew about the Harbour either. Was it- It’s obviously not some secret kept from werewolves in general. One of the Original Seven was the Fenrisúlfr Pack, and there was mention of them in the Hale archives, although it was believed that they died out a long time ago.” It was something Peter remembers his parents and grandparents being proud of, that the Hales remained when even a pack as old and large as the Fenrisúlfrs - formed even before the Hales did - were eventually picked off. What a joke. “So-” He hesitates for a fraction of a second before his curiosity spills the question from his lips. “-did my ancestors do something to offend the residents of the Harbour?”

Stiles is already frowning, and he shakes his head upon hearing Peter’s question. “It’s not that. Werewolves are only banned if they break the Harbour laws, just like anybody else. Nobody was ever denied sanctuary, especially back then when the supernatural was an open secret at best, and the hunters were allowed to work in the open, and every church and their neighbours hated us. But when the Harbour was first created as a haven for supernatural creatures, it meant that a lot of us chose to take only what we could carry with us in order to migrate here and start all over again, put down new roots and forsake our old homes. Some species like fae and vampires and witches didn’t mind so much. The most important thing to them was to remove themselves and their families out of the hunters’ reach. Others like the griffins or the nymphs or even the dragons who had more attachments to their nests or lakes or caves were afraid but still came because the threat outweighed their fear.”

He pauses for a moment, and Peter thinks he already understands even as Stiles continues in slightly gentler tones, “But you know better than I do that werewolves are some of the most territorial creatures out there. A lot of the packs back then refused to move. Some didn’t think it was worth it. Others thought that a haven wasn’t possible at all, just an idealistic dream for fools, or even if it was, they didn’t like the idea of sharing land with so many species. And a lot of packs believed that they could handle any threat a bunch of humans could ever pose to them. So, they stayed behind while the rest of us moved on. There’s a reason most of the werewolves living here are descendants of the Fenrisúlfr Pack, or they married in. At the beginning, the Fenrisúlfrs were one of only three werewolf packs who agreed to come, and not only agreed but reached out to other packs to see if they wanted to join us, and planned the migration routes with us, and eventually helped construct the Harbour with us. The houses here? A lot of them were built by them. The original resort too. They couldn’t contribute to the wards like the other Six could, but they did a lot of the heavy-lifting. Even today, they’re one of the pillars of our society. But they were the exception amongst werewolves, not the rule. And so when the wards went up, one of the components triggered… not exactly full-on memory loss, even we couldn’t do that, but if anyone had even the slightest doubts about the existence of supernatural creatures, it took that doubt and built on it, made their beliefs and memories seem like dreams instead, and the wards themselves were powerful enough to affect the entire world. Most hunters still remembered quite a bit, unfortunately, but the wards are how humans and supernatural creatures have come to forget the lesser-known species, or decide that they don’t exist at all, like harpies and centaurs and Sparks. And of course, most importantly, anybody who heard even a rumour about a supernatural haven forgot even the concept of it. Only those inside the Harbour at the time were completely unaffected. And because most werewolves - no matter how old their lines go back - refused to leave behind their lands, they were also affected. And that’s why neither you nor your family would’ve ever heard of the Harbour. The wards erased us from history. And so history forgot us, and we remain - to this day - safe.”

They sit in silence for a while after Stiles finishes, with only the rhythmic lapping of water at Peter’s ankles and the call of birds interrupting it.

Werewolves _are_ very territorial creatures. The mostly friendly way werewolves in the Harbour interact is not the norm in the- the _outside_ world. It’s not that they’re less dangerous, or that they’ve been tamed. Peter went on a run just a few weeks ago with a few other shifters, two other werewolves and a werebear, chasing down some hunters who were skulking along the western border, and they were downright _savage_ when it came to people trying to harm the Harbour’s residents. But most of the time, when there isn’t any need to fight off intruders, it’s almost as if something in the air here grants them a kind of peace that can’t be found anywhere else. Each pack still has their own territory carved out in the Harbour, and of course they don’t like non-pack-members encroaching on them, but at the resort or in town, in places designated for people to mingle and socialize, there’s no ridiculous posturing between alphas or overblown throwdowns between betas. There are still impromptu wrestling matches between them sometimes, fangs and claws and all, but once they’re finished, there’s nothing… poisonous that lingers in their interactions. Good-natured ribbing and competitive rivalry, but nothing toxic the way blood feuds might be issued over the smallest bit of backtalk in a so-called peace meeting between packs in the outside world.

It’s a _good_ place here, but it would’ve required moving here to begin with, and there were probably plenty of problems back then over which piece of land was whose, and what was allowed and what wasn’t, would’ve taken so much work to get to where this community has gotten to today, and Peter knows better than most how prideful werewolves can be too. Compromise has never been their first instinct - although Talia did little else as Alpha when it came to hunters, to their _enemies_ , because these are _civilized times_ \- and what a lot of werewolves would’ve considered to be running away from an enemy wouldn’t have been either. Now that Stiles has explained it to him, Peter can understand exactly why most packs would’ve refused, even if it meant being hunted for the rest of their lives.

His claws dig into his thighs, and he has to take a deep breath to avoid poking holes into his jeans.

He can understand, but that doesn’t make the contempt he feels any less.

(They would’ve been _safe_. If the Hale Pack was established in the Harbour, if they had been less arrogant or less stubborn or less afraid and taken a chance when the offer was extended all those centuries ago, if their children were born and raised here, the Argents would never have been able to burn them.

Compromise isn’t in Peter’s nature either, at least not when it comes to his enemies, which was just another reason he and Talia rarely got along. He was too suspicious. Too underhanded. Too quick to judge. Didn’t give enough chances.

But in the name of self-preservation, including the safety of those he called his, he would’ve done anything, even picked up his pack and moved halfway up the continent. And that’s a failure he’ll always scorn his ancestors for.)

“Hey,” Stiles says and nothing else, instead leaning over to drape himself across Peter’s lap again in a way that makes Peter wonder if Stiles has some feline in his family. Amber eyes stare up at him even as a hand finds his own and twines their fingers together.

Peter sighs and finds his dark mood slipping away even as a slight smile tugs at his lips. “I’m fine. Tell me about something else. Is the Harbour the only haven for our kind?”

“Mm, no,” Stiles says, frowning a little again. “There aren’t a lot of them though. In the Americas, as far as I know, there are only two - one here, and another down in New Orleans.”

Peter’s eyebrows go up. He can’t say that comes as much of a shock, now that he thinks about it. New Orleans is a supernatural hotspot, sitting on an intersection of leylines as it does - even he knows that. He just didn’t know there was another haven there.

“They’re even more integrated with regular humans than we are,” Stiles adds. “Their wards are strong enough to redirect most attention though, so it’s never been too much of an issue. But they have less wilderness than we do, more city, and personally, I think they have to hide more than we do. They’re just too… mixed in with humans to live otherwise. Hunters aren’t aware of just how _many_ supernatural creatures there are in that city, but I think you know that even they know that there’s regular supernatural activity happening there. The only reason they haven’t attacked en masse is because New Orleans is a haven mostly for magic users, not shifters or any other species that hunters prefer to kill. So they tend to ignore the place. Not that there aren’t still idiots who try now and then, but New Orleans is soaked in olde magic. It’ll take a lot more than guns to penetrate the Big Easy’s defenses.”

Peter takes a moment to digest that. He doesn’t even have to visit New Orleans to know that he likes the Harbour more. Nature runs rampant here despite the residents, and as a werewolf, he needs the freedom to run. He doesn’t think he’d be able to find much of that in the Big Easy.

“Only two though?” He enquires.

Stiles shrugs a bit, absently playing with Peter’s fingers now. “There could be another in South America but I wouldn’t know about that. And there used to be a third haven somewhere in Arizona. Their wards fell though, shortly after they were established. They tried to run, but it was never an ideal place to build a haven anyway. Too many hunter families living next to the border. I hear the Calaveras led the charge in wiping out ninety percent of the Ranch’s residents. They didn’t know that it had been a haven; they just thought creatures were gathering for some nefarious purpose or something, and they were easy pickings for them, grouped together like that. The rest scattered. It became a bit of a cautionary tale for the rest of us. And we’re lucky,” He adds. “Nobody expects a supernatural hotspot in _British Columbia_ of all places. We still get hunters now and then, or just idiots looking to prove those myths about bigfoot or whatever are true, but it’s never anything we can’t handle, and the wards ensure that their deaths can’t be tracked back to us.”

That’s a relief to hear, even if Peter already knew as much, more or less. He has no qualms slaughtering anyone who tries to harm his new home, but he doesn’t want to kill one too many hunters one day and bring unwanted attention down on the Harbour.

“What about in other parts of the world?” Peter asks.

“There’s only one in all of Europe,” Stiles says with a chilling matter-of-fact certainty. “A lot of the older hunter families are from there, like the Argents. They hunted anything they thought was remotely magical to extinction a long time ago. Any that escaped fled the continent. Except the vampires. The Crypt under Vatican City is populated only by vampires, and they don’t welcome any other species. It’s one of the reasons my mother’s family moved to America ages ago. It just wasn’t safe there.

“Other than that, I know Japan has the Shrine, and there’s the Summit in Nepal.” He smirks a little. “Lots of dragons up in those mountains. Yeti and other cold-inclined creatures too. And it’s not like it’s _hard_ for people who wander too close to the borders of the Summit to just disappear or get turned around. Climbers die every day. Their wards aren’t quite as strong as ours but they’ve got weather on their side.

“Those are the only havens I know of. I’ve only ever been to the Summit, but we have ways of communicating with all of them, and after what happened in Arizona, we even set up a… passageway, I guess you could call it, connecting the havens to each other. Excluding the Crypt of course. The passageways are locked down most of the time - we do a yearly checkup on the runes to make sure they’re still in working order - but if one of our havens’ wards do fall again someday, we’ll have somewhere to evacuate to. If there are other havens - and chances are good that there probably are at least a few more - they’ve kept to themselves. And we keep to ours.”

Peter files all that away in his mind. He’s begun working on a compendium lately, of everything he’s learning about the Harbour. This will be a good addition to the history section.

“Any more questions?” Stiles prompts.

Peter snorts at the hopeful puppy eyes he’s getting. “You _like_ answering my questions.”

“I do,” Stiles agrees. “Chris isn’t big on details once he has all the need-to-know information. Unless its about weaponry or vehicles or something, he has all the curiosity of a brick wall.” Peter snickers. He makes a note to say that to Chris’ face sometime. “But like I said, today is a do-nothing day. Also you promised me you’d go swimming with me in wolf form.”

Peter heaves a sigh. “You realize that’s still technically doing something, right?”

“But it doesn’t require thinking!”

Peter eyes him suspiciously for a moment before poking a finger into his side and smirking when Stiles squawks and giggles. “If you call me cute again when I’m in my full-shift, I’ll bite you.”

Stiles beams and rolls to his feet. “Kinky, but I’ll have to pa- aagghh!”

_Splash!_

Peter tackles him into the water, already grinning even as he surfaces and starts stripping out of his clothes. A few feet away, Stiles bobs up as well, spluttering and looking terribly indignant. “You asshole!”

Peter’s grin widens. He tosses his wet clothes onto the dock, and between one breath and the next, he’s paddling with four legs instead of two.

He bares his teeth at Stiles. Stiles’ eyes widen.

“Wait! I’m not ready-!”

Peter lunges, dunking both of them underwater once more, much to Stiles’ flailing dismay. He’s careful not to play too roughly, but he also knows from experience by now that-

A spark of magic catches him around the middle and flips him clean out of the water. He lands again with an even bigger splash than when he tackled Stiles in, and even with water in his ears, he can hear Stiles laughing, muffled but bright.

They spend the rest of the afternoon wrestling with each other until Chris comes home, already radiating exasperation if his expression is anything to go by.

“Seriously?”

Stiles and Peter exchange a look. Chris’ face sharpens with alarm. “Wait. Don’t you dare-”

Magic hooks around his waist and yanks him clean over the railing of the boat and into the water. Peter shifts back just so he can laugh properly as Chris cusses up a storm and even makes a halfway decent attempt at drowning a cackling Stiles with his bare hands.

It’s a slow day, but a good one.

Peter’s looking forward to many more.

 


End file.
